


Stomach Flu 2

by 2dsickfics



Series: Marvel Cinematic Universe Fics [3]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Nausea, Scat, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Vomiting, diarrhoea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2020-03-29 19:21:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19026301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2dsickfics/pseuds/2dsickfics
Summary: Peter Parker/Spiderman - Stomach Flu 2





	Stomach Flu 2

By the time Peter wakes up there’s already a small puddle of vomit on the sheets next to his head. He barely has time to register the fact that he’s thrown the pillows across the room in his sleep before he heaves again over the blankets and his shirt.

“Uh, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” his voice breaks a little as he speaks.

“Yes, Peter?” is the calm response.

“Is anyone awake?” he queries, before adding, “And what time is it?”

“It is currently 3:28 AM on the 3rd of December. Nobody is awake right now, but I can alert the Boss if you want me to.” The AI’s enthusiastic tone doesn’t really reflect the situation, and the volume is just enough to worsen Peter’s headache.

“No, I’m ok.” The Spiderling sighs and climbs out of bed, trying not to make too much more mess, carefully pulling the bedding back to contain the foul substance and moves it to the floor, dropping his shirt on top. Next, he asks F.R.I.D.A.Y. to direct him to the closest linen cupboard and obtains two blankets (he doesn’t bother with new sheets or a shirt; he’s worried he’ll mess them up again). 

When he returns to his room, the odour from before sending his head reeling with dizziness and he rushes to the bathroom before losing more of his breakfast to the porcelain god. He retches until he can’t bring any more up, even though he’s fairly sure there’s plenty left.

Peter groans as his stomach cramps and he leans over the bowl again to prepare, but suddenly his insides shift and he changes his position to sitting on the bowl instead. He feels horrible - his throat stings, he’s losing all three meals from yesterday (and probably more) in the most painful ways possible and he’s made a mess of his bed. Plus, he can feel his stomach gearing up for more vomiting as the smells of the toilet reach him, and the trash can is on the other side of the room.

Fortunately, he manages to catch a break in time to dart to the trash can and back, so that now he has it in his lap as his stomach empties itself some more around too-wet farts. He gags and coughs as he brings up yellow liquid and chunks of unrecognisable mush. When he finishes with everything he cleans up and leans against the wall, realising he needs help because he doesn’t know what he’s doing and he’s going to get dehydrated if he doesn’t find someone to help him get medicine. He doesn’t know where it is, and even if he did he doesn’t think he can focus enough to read the packaging.

The logical side of him doesn’t think he should leave the bathroom but he needs to get Mr Stark. The boy travelles through his room with all the grace of a baby giraffe and makes his way into the hallway between his mentor and his own bedroom after an immesureable amount of time paying various types of respect to the white throne. When he gets to the door his stomach is somersulting and he briefly wishes he brought the bin, but it’s too late to go back now so he just knocks on the doorframe and pushes the door ajar.

“Mr Stark?” he calls when he doesn’t recieve a reply to the knock, opening the door more. His voice was immediately more effective.

“Kid?” he hears as his gut growls at him, “What’re you doin’ up? Should get some sleep.” Tony mumbles before opening his eyes properly.

“Sorry, I-” Peter stops as a hiccup escapes him, momentarily panicking about the bin’s abcence again before continuing, “I’m sick. Made a mess, threw up in bed.” he explains. Mr Stark is wide awake now.

“You gonna throw up again?” is Mr Stark’s first question, moving to get the bucket under the bed anyway (too much alchohol too often makes you cautious).

“Ugh. Yeah… sorry.” chokes the pitiful mess of a boy in front of him.

“It’s fine, just- uh, here. Aim for this.” the bucket is transferred to the younger of the two and the sounds coming from the kid’s stomach sound painful as he retches over the plastic. Tony winces at the splash of undigested stomach contents, “Um, ok. Not what I was expecting to deal with, but sure. You been sick for long?”

“I dunno, was-” a gag “was 3:30 when I woke up. Got sick in bed.” Peter explained as best he could around his rebellious insides.

“Yikes, Kid. That all? Need to know what to give you.” Sounds like a nasty stomach flu to Tony, considering that it’s now nearly 5. He feels bad for the little spider.

“Um-” Peter goes as red as his costume, “I puked in the bathroom- not on the floor or anything- I mean, I need to clean the bin and, uh.” tears of embarrassment form in his eyes.

“Spit it out, buddy. Sooner you tell me, sooner we can dope you up.” Tony encourages, his way of saying not to worry.

“I-I had, um… di-” a tear slips down his cheek, “ diarrhoea.”

“Don’t worry about it, Kid. Nothing to be ashamed of.” the boy doesn’t reply, but his expressions says he doesn’t believe his mentor one bit.

“I’m serious, underoos. And it’s not the worst anyone here has seen, there’s been multiple food poisoning incidents here.” he jokes, “None of us can cook well. And I’m assuming you made it to the bathroom since you only changed shirts. Better that some of us can say…” he laughs, but there’s a hint of awkwardness in his voice. Peter doesn’t ask.

“Ok, I get it, I get it.” He’s feeling very queasy now and he just wants to lie down. He says as much to Tony who guides him to his own bed.

Suddenly Peter stumbles to the bathroom, shutting the door and gripping the still-dirty bucked as he once again removes his pants and splatter’s echo from the toilet and bucket too frequently not to be causing dehydration. He jumps at a knock on the door and a loud fart echoes around the bathroom. if he wasn’t embarrased before, he  _definitely_ is now.

“I’m going to get the dirty sheets and the bin out of your room and some pepto. I’ll be back in a moment.” he hears over the sounds of his own body and simply vomits as a means of response, triggering another few farts and liquid to come out. When he’s done he moves from the bathroom and finds Mr Stark waiting for him with a dose of medicine already measured out, some water and the bed set up with some old blankets on one side, closer to the toilet.

Peter doesn’t protest the medicine and crawls into the side of the bed closest to the bathroom, curling up and closing his eyes after sipping at the water.

“Thanks M’ser S’ark.” he mumbles sleepily.

“No problem, Kid.” Tony assures as he sits on the other side of the bed, settling in for a night of supervision and caretaking.


End file.
